The Beloved One
by Polaris-Polus
Summary: An unexpected perspective from the evening before Ben and Luke arrive in Mos Eisley


The Beloved One

By Polaris-Polus

The relentless heat from the desert planet's binary star-suns tormented him as he walked through the low sprawl of mud-daub and spray-crete buildings. With the suns' rays casting at two different angles as they approached their perigee, there was no shade and the only time a breeze ever came up here was when one of the deadly sandstorms roared out of the Wastes.

He hated everything about this place; the stink of the beasts of burden roaming through the streets and the sharp reek of speeder exhaust, the grit which found its way into every crack, crevice, and orifice, the lack of any color other than dusty tan, dull ecru, and dingy ocre, the long, simmering days that passed without change of season...He hated all that, and yet they kept coming here. His Beloved-One seemed irresistibly drawn to this place, and where the Beloved-One went, he would always follow.

That deep, unshakable loyalty didn't keep him from being grumpy about having to endure this dung-heap, however.

How he longed for his homeworld, a place so very, very different from this arid hell. His planet had great ice-capped poles, with temperate equatorial zones covered in deep, dense forests. The summers were wet and cool. Lush green was the predominant color of those months, with enormous, jewel-bright flowers growing vibrantly amid the foliage. Winters were cold and snowy. Algae blooms of pink, yellow, blue and purple enlivened the white of the snow in colorful splashes.

But that beauty was gone now.

Stolen...

Pillaged...

The great forests were ripped out by their very roots; the wood shipped off-planet to become furniture, paneling and decorative objects, and for building material so the wealthy of the vast city-planets could dwell in memories of organic life as the poorer people squatted in their warrens and cubicles of metal, plastic, and concrete.

The mountains of his world had been ravaged too. The tops were blown off and the guts hollowed out, as the great hordes of mining 'droids chewed them up and spat them out as rubble while extracting all of the valuable minerals. Pollution from the mining operations turned the once pure air acrid, and the millions of oil and gas extractors covering the oceans had killed all the sealife by poisoning the water.

He could never go home because home was dead.

His home was now with the Beloved-One.

His Beloved-One was all that mattered.

Narrowly avoiding a speeding speeder, he crossed the street to his destination; the scutty little cantina where the Beloved-One liked to sit and drink while listening to the gossip of the other freighter pilots. Some of them were legitimate spacers, but most who came to the bar only fronted as such to hide their true vocation as smugglers and blockade runners.

He entered the grunky establishment and paused just inside the door. His eyes needed to adjust to the dimness of the interior after the brilliant blaze of outside, and he wanted to make sure that there were no patrons there who might be trouble. The bar was a haven for the dregs of the star-jammer ranks. Murderers, thieves, informants, and the just plain vicious often drank there, but it was the best place to make contacts in the black market and smuggling trade. Just as importantly, the cantina owner had made a deal with the local Trooper garrison to keep soldiers out unless actual trouble erupted.

Having determined that the situation in the cantina was acceptable, he entered all the way and went to the main bar where he ordered a Nabooian beer. He could feel the other patrons looking at him. Those that knew him knew better than to bother him and those that didn't know him were smart enough to see that his sheer size and his openly displayed weapon meant he was to be treated with caution.

Beer in hand, he went to sit at a table and wait for the Beloved-One. He hoped it would not be a long wait. Though it was cool inside the cantina, he disliked the place and would rather have been back aboard the ship.

How ironic that he should wind up in a shithole bar on a desert world, scraping along with a mix of legitimate and illegitimate jobs. Had anyone told him this was where his life would lead, he would have laughed at them.

He'd been a mighty general once, one of the most respected ranking military leaders of his people, fighting alongside some of the greatest warriors in the galaxy. His was a position of honor. He had been famous and admired. How proud he had been then, battling for his people and his planet, but then betrayal had ended it all.

During the last great attack, outworld soldiers who were supposed to be their allies had turned in the middle of the decisive battle. It had been a horrendous slaughter. The entire planet fell. Millions were killed. Only a few tens of thousands, himself among them, managed to make an escape, but they were not safe from danger even though they'd fled the planet.

As members of what was eventually designated a "rebel race with terrorist tendencies", he and all his remaining people were prevented from going to any core world. Even in the loosely governed fringe systems, survival was tenuous. There was still an active bounty on them, their scalps fetching upwards of 5,000 Galactic Credits in many jurisdictions. Arrest for simply being one of their kind was common and those arrested seldom returned.

Decades of relentless persecution had decimated the numbers of the refugees. He didn't know how many of his people were left. The only thing he did know was that it had been years since he'd seen one of his own kind.

His depressed thoughts were shunted aside as he saw the Beloved-One come into the cantina. The Human stopped in the entryway just as he had and for the same reasons. The man saw him sitting at the table and gave him a nod from across the room before going to the bar.

He could tell the Beloved-One was tense and upset. Usually, the man walked with a saunter full of easy grace, but now he was coiled up tight. His strange but handsome features were set in an expression he'd learned to interpret as one of unhappiness. His assessment of the Human's mood was confirmed as he watched the man buy not a single shot of alcohol, but an entire bottle. Clearly, this was going to be a serious drinking session.

The Beloved-One brought the bottle of Saurian brandy over to the table where he sat and threw himself into the other chair with a dissatisfied grunt.

="Well, I've got good news and bad news,"= the Human said in Galactic Common. ="Which do you want first?"=

Though he was capable of speaking Galactic Common, his cultural beliefs proscribed talking in any language other than that of his own race. Fortunately, the Beloved-One, while physically unable to replicate his language, had become fluent in understanding it.

+"The bad news first."+ he replied.

="The slimy bastard has already heard that we had to jettison the cargo when we got boarded. He's put out word that he wants to talk to us."=

+"What is the good news?"+

="He doesn't know we're here on-planet yet."=

+"It will not take him long before he finds out. He has many ears and eyes."+

The Beloved-One let out a heavy sigh and drank directly from the brandy bottle.

="At least I was able to pawn that oscillation overthruster. I got enough for it that we'll be able to fuel the ship up, just in case we have to leave in a hurry."=

+"We are running out of places to leave to,"+ he replied grimly.

="Don't you think I know that!"= the Human snapped with an angry glower.

He looked at the man with his deep-set blue eyes reproachful and sad.

Another sigh heaved through the Beloved-One's chest.

="I'm sorry...Look, don't worry, ok? I'll think of something."=

They sat in silence after that. The Human drank, but he remained sober and alert.

By the time evening rolled around, the Beloved-One was thoroughly drunk. The cantina was getting crowded. The planet's twin star-suns had set and the cooler temperatures made people more willing to move about. This wasn't a bar for common workers, so the influx of patrons was mostly due to low-scuts, crims, pimps, and drug dealers crawling out of their holes.

The increased noise was giving him a headache. Figrin Da'n's band had started playing the screechy twibbers that passed for music in this area, and people were talking louder and louder to be heard over it. The air in the bar was getting humid and foetid from body heat, sweat, perfume, hookah smoke, and pheromone mists.

He wanted to go back to the ship, but the Beloved-One was not ready to return to the spaceport and he would not leave the man when he was inebriated, especially not in a place like this.

Things didn't get any better when the Beloved-One began openly and very aggressively flirting with every humanoid female within scanning range. He hated it when the Human lowered himself with such creatures. How he longed to tell the man his true feelings for him; that it hurt to watch him seek shallow, meaningless mating experiences with females who had no real caring for him. But he could not tell him the truth. Not only was the Beloved One heterosexual, but he also preferred to mate exclusively with females who were either Human or strongly resembled Humans. His kind was too different. Even if he'd not been male, the Beloved-One would not have found him attractive.

He didn't even dare to hope that someday the Beloved-One would figure out how he felt about him and would accept him as his mate. The Human was many things; brave, loyal, honorable, and adventurous, but one of the things he wasn't was perceptive.

In the beginning, when he'd first met the man, the Human's lack of insight was a good thing. He didn't want the man asking too many questions. After all, he was not only a member of an exiled, rebel race, but he had been branded a war criminal, though in truth the only crime he'd committed was daring to fight against the forces of the Evil-One.

To avoid capture, he'd changed his identity, adopting the guise of a barely sapient star-jammer just smart enough to spell his own name and handle the duties of a first mate aboard a small spacecraft. The Beloved-One had accepted this without question and hired him on the spot. He hadn't planned on staying with the Human for long and he certainly hadn't planned on falling in love with him, but by the time he realized he couldn't live without the man, it was too late to explain the truth to him.

Undoubtedly, the Beloved-One would be very upset to learn that the being he believed to be his intellectual inferior was, in fact, a great deal smarter than he was. Among the Human's faults, was a deep-rooted arrogance. The man believed himself to be the best pilot, best tactician, best captain, and quite possibly the best Human ever born. It would shock him to discover that the being he considered a subordinate underling, just barely above a low-tech primitive, had once commanded legions of soldiers in strategically sophisticated battles.

No, better to just keep playing stupid and letting the man believe he was just a dumb animal.

The Beloved-One was now at the bar counter, his targeting system locked on a Twi'lek female. She was responding favorably to his approaches, smiling, making full eye contact, and leaning toward him. The Human responded with his best sexy grin as he informed her that he wasn't just any old star-jammer. He was a captain. And of his very own ship too! She seemed impressed by this and it appeared that she might actually be interested in allowing him to couple with her docking ring. The Human suggested that perhaps they should go somewhere more private and get to know each other better. The Twi'lek fem agreed, there was just the little matter of her 100 credit fee for services...

Honestly, the Beloved-One's surprise at discovering that his intended easy lay was a prostitute would have been funny, as it had actually been fairly obvious to everyone but him, but the man was not taking the disappointment well. He loudly proclaimed that he NEVER paid for sex! That he never HAD to pay for sex! And that women usually paid HIM for sex! None of which was true, of course.

Then the whore's pimp got involved. The Gamorrean had been loitering unobtrusively nearby to monitor the situation. The grunting being told the Human that if he didn't want to pay for his fem's services, that was fine, but he would have to hork up 10 credits for wasting her time. Needless to say, the Beloved-One didn't like that demand and things were clearly going to start getting ugly unless he intervened.

Getting up from the table, he walked over and took a protective stance beside his Human, with his bowcaster charged and ready. The pimp realized that not only did the Human have backup, but he had big, well-armed backup. The Gamorrean took his whore and left the area.

Grumpily, the Beloved-One scowled at their departing backs.

="Figures. Beautiful women are never what they seem!"=

+"It is getting late."+ he said, hoping the Human would take the hint.

Fortunately, the man did.

="Yeah. This is a waste of time anyway."=

The Beloved-One snatched his brandy bottle off the bar counter. The bottle was only about a third full now, and it had taken the man a couple of hours to drink it down to that level, but as they exited the cantina, the Human began taking deep, glugging swigs in an effort to finish it off. The man was already unsteady in his gait and he wondered if he was going to be able to make it all the way to the spaceport or if he was going to have to carry him...again.

The three moons overhead were very bright and it was easy to see, even without the spotty streetlights. People were still out and about, but not as many as earlier. Many of the locals were wrapped up warmly in drape-coats as they considered the nighttime temperatures too chilly, but he was still too hot.

They had passed through Junk-Dealer's Row and were making their way along the main market area. Most of the stalls and booths were closed for the night, but some remained open to cater to customers preferring evening walkabouts. As he and the Human rounded the corner of a robo-taxi stand, they suddenly came face-to-face with a hooded and cloaked figure with a long proboscis and covered eyes.

It was Garindan!

Damn it!

The Kubaz informer looked at them in surprise for a brief moment, then turned and scurried away into the shadows.

="Well,"= the Beloved-One said drunkenly, ="wanna guess who he's running off to tell?"=

+"He would hear eventually,"+ he replied.

But he knew that being seen in the bar by just the usual locals would mean it might be three or four days before the Extortionist heard they were on the planet, but Garindan would take the intel straight to the slimy bastard before the hour was out.

The Beloved-One made a disgruntled sound and tilted back the brandy bottle, draining the remains in a series of deep swallows. The Human then cocked back his arm to give the bottle a hard, overhand throw off into the night, but the act of hurling the vitreon container made him lose his balance. The man would have fallen, but he quickly reached out and steadied him. The Beloved-One reacted to this by jerking his arm away and snarling,

="I'm fine, dammit!"=

He accepted this drunken ingratitude silently and they began walking again. Surprisingly, the Human made it to the spaceport under his own power, but by the time they approached docking bay 94, that last hard glunk of alcohol had finally short-circuited his piloting controls and he staggered badly, starting to topple.

Judging that the Human was now too inebriated to protest, he scooped the man up into his powerful arms and carried him the rest of the way to the ship. The Beloved-One accepted this, actually nestling his face into the soft fur of his chest. That was some compensation at least.

Shifting the man so that he was cradled in one arm, he used the controller on his bandolier to disable the ship's security systems and lower the boarding ramp. Ducking his towering form, he carried the Human inside and through to the captain's cabin. He laid him down on the bunk and took off his boots and gun belt, then raised his torso to remove his vest and pull his shirt off over his head. The man's limbs were limp and he appeared completely passed out.

For a long moment he just gazed down at the being he loved so much.

Humans were such strange looking things, really. They were so furless! There were only intermittent clumps and patches of hair scattered about their bodies. It made them look so naked. It was no wonder they chose to cover themselves with so much clothing. Still, their bare skin was smooth and velvety...

Believing the man to be unconscious, he dared to reach out and touch the skin of his chest with the pads of his fingers. It was soft and warm. He placed his palm over the Human's heart, feeling the alien rhythm of that organ, so different from his own.

Carefully, he caressed the Beloved-One's jaw and cheek. There was stubble there from what would have been a beard had the Human not insisted upon shaving. Voluntary removal of even more fur was such an odd idea. Why would they want to make themselves more bare and yet keep so much of their skin covered because it was bare?

Human faces were so funny looking and yet this face above all others did he adore. No other in the galaxy was so appealing to him. He understood that the Beloved-One was considered quite handsome by Human standards. Normally, he found Human tastes questionable to say the very least, but in this one thing he absolutely agreed; the man was beautiful.

He suddenly became aware that his inner-self hurt. His spirit was aching and he knew that he was tormenting himself with thoughts of the being he could never have. His blue eyes stung with tears, one of the few things his kind and Humans shared. He turned away, rubbing at them with the back of one hand, drying the wetness in the fur there. Sighing, he turned to leave the cabin, but the Beloved-One spoke,

="Chewie?"=

Composing himself, he looked back to where the Human lay. The man was looking sadly at him.

="I'm sorry, Chewie."=

+"Go back to sleep, Han. You're dreaming."+

He turned off the cabin lights and left the room.


End file.
